He would’ve done everything differently. He wouldn’t have let her stay in that apartment. He might’ve even gone against V’s orders. He would’ve forced her to leave.
It would be better to have never met then have fallen head over heels with her, let his guard down and end up here. With her, limp in his arms and warmth draining from her. She had long ceased trying to speak - it cost too much energy.
Her last moments had passed and this was a pain he had never known before. It was worse than anything he had ever felt. She spent her last moments comforting him. It’s going to be okay…
How could anything ever be okay? How could he ever be okay? After what he’s seen. After what he’s done. She was gone. Because of him. Because of his reckless desire for something aside from the loneliness that haunted him in that cold, metallic building of his. It wasn’t home. It could never be home.
If he had known, he would’ve held her closer. Held her longer. Told her more. Been less self conscious. Less bashful.
He would’ve loved her with every fibre of his being, dissolving into her and filling every part of him with her. He smile, her voice. Her.
